


But I didn't pour the whiskey

by malakian



Series: Folklore [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Album: folklore (Taylor Swift), Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Death Eater Severus Snape, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Spy Severus Snape, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28986204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malakian/pseuds/malakian
Summary: They told me all of my cages were mental, so I got wasted like all my potential.-Based on the song “this is me trying” by Taylor Swift (from the album “folklore”).
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Severus Snape, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy & Severus Snape, Severus Snape & Voldemort
Series: Folklore [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050995
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	But I didn't pour the whiskey

**August 1981**

The old pub was crowded that evening, full of workers enjoying their last drink before the start of a new week. The air was static and even the outdoors felt like a small closed space, heat clinging to the skin. The door opened and Severus got out to the street, a pint in one hand, a cigarette in the other. He walked a few steps and leaned on the wall, lighting the cigarette with a snap of his fingers. He took a long puff and rested his head on the brick wall, exhaling slowly. Looking at the sky, he gulped on his beer and closed his eyes. He was definitely not ready for the path he was about to follow but there was no way out of it — if there was any other possible solution he would certainly have chosen it over this. He took another puff and watched as people left the pub laughing, joking, and looking pleased, excited in a way he couldn't even fathom. He thought about the last time he felt something near this peace people seemed to exhale — so many years ago, that memory now locked inside his head — and wondered if this would ever be part of his life, then calmly acknowledged that no. Not really. Not for now, at least. Probably not in a long time.

Throwing the stub of his cigarette on the floor and crushing it, he left the glass on the pub windowsill and walked away, absentmindedly scratching his left arm. In a dirty alley, he apparated to Hogsmeade and walked into the Three Broomsticks, going upstairs to a bedroom at the end of the corridor. He took off his shirt and plunged into bed, head already pounding and his stomach bubbling apprehensively at the thought of facing his first meeting as part of the Hogwarts staff. 

* * *

He woke up too early. It was still dark outside, the sky slowly turning from black to grey. His breath was uneven and his heart was already racing inside his chest, and he allowed himself a few minutes in bed, trying to control his breath. Once more, it came to his mind the absolute certainty that he shouldn't have agreed to this; there should be another way to perform his duty as a spy, he would talk to Dumbledore and sort this out — except even if the Headmaster agreed to it, how would he deal with the Dark Lord? He needed Severus in the school, and how could he convince the Dark Lord that he was spying for him if not as a teacher? 

Finally dragging his body out of bed, he went to the bathroom, let the water run in the bathtub, and took off the rest of his clothes. They still smelled like the hours he had spent at the pub and he longed for more beers and cigarettes instead of what was ahead of him. He went inside the tub and dived in the cold water, his nerves screaming in pain but his mind working to numb everything. Clearing his head of any thought, he sank slowly until only his face was out of the water and his mind was as calm and still as the air on a summer night. 

He felt somewhat renewed when he put on his clothes, casting a cooling charm so he would not melt inside them. He stopped in front of the mirror and carefully examined his figure — the thin fingers, the sullen face — and quickly dismissed this worry; he had other things to keep his mind occupied. With a flick of his wand, the stacks of books scattered around the room were moved inside an enchanted suitcase he had also magicked to be lightweight. Turning to one single bag full of clothes, he cleaned the change of clothes he was wearing the previous day and placed it inside the bag with the rest. He looked around and sighed. He hated this. He hated this so fucking much.

He apparated to the school gates, where Argus Filch was waiting for him — or at least for someone.

“I've been told to wait for the new Potions teacher,” he said, checking Snape from head to toe.

He hesitated and steadied his voice before saying, “That would be me.”

“You?” he scowled. “Dumbledore keeps getting nutter by the day.”

“I can assure you that if you call for the Headmaster —”

“Ay, ay," he opened the gates. “I don't doubt his fucked up mind. You can leave your trunk here, I'll get it to your quarters.”

Severus crossed the gates and hesitantly left his bags near Filch.

“Don't worry, I’m sure there's nothing useful for me in there. I won't steal it.” And dismissing him with a waving hand he said, “The meeting is in the teacher's room, second floor.”

Severus nodded and went towards the castle, his stomach twitching, and his palms already sweating. When he passed the doors of the Entrance Hall he came to a halt. To his mind came the night he stepped inside the castle for the first time 10 years earlier, as well as the last one, just 3 years previous; many things had changed between those two evenings but they had one thing in common: when he was 11 he entered the castle in hopes it would be a place to help him reach his brightest dreams — and he failed; when he was 18 and leaving the school, he hoped the world would correct this mistake and welcome him as the school should’ve done, and that he would never have to set foot in this goddamn castle again — but he failed, too. Here he was again, apparently cursed and bound to these walls like a fucking ghost. He felt the cold creeping through his veins and forced himself to keep walking towards the meeting room.

He could hear people talking and recognized the voices of his former teachers. He took a deep breath and walked inside the room. The conversation stopped, and so did he.

Dumbledore looked at the door and smiled softly. 

“Severus, welcome! Please join us. We’ve been waiting for you.”

He mumbled “Good morning” and went straight to the nearest seat. The uncomfortable silence lingered for a few seconds but he did not dare look at the other people in the room, keeping his eyes on Dumbledore's imponent figure. The Headmaster then rose and started talking.

“Well, I believe we can start now that everyone has arrived. Good morning, my friends. It's good to see you all here alive and well, especially in face of the times in which we're living. Each day we get to live and each friend we can see once more is a true gift and a real blessing. We're about to start another challenging school year — firstly because all school years present us with new challenges regardless; this one, however, may be especially tricky. We have students to protect and take care of while a powerful danger is circling us. We need to work together if we want to survive this and —” his eyes flickered to Severus — “protect the ones we love.” 

Dumbledore looked around the room and smiled again. “We have two new colleagues here with us for this new year and I want you to welcome them as old friends, but also be available to help them in this new phase that they start with us today. Mrs. Fawcett will be joining us as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher—” he pointed to the blonde woman sitting right across Severus — “and will certainly offer a lot to our students given her experience as an Auror.”

The other teachers clapped warmly and smiled at her; Severus joined them, even though unenthusiastically. 

“Welcome, Mrs. Fawcett. Thank you for joining us. We also have here Mr. Snape, who will offer us his immense knowledge in the post of Potions Master, replacing our old friend Horace Slughorn, who retired in the last term because, in his own words, he couldn't take another second inside these walls or around people under eighteen”, he finished chuckling. “Welcome, Severus. It's a pleasure to have you here.”

Severus felt his face hot and nodded, looking down at his feet. He noticed, however, that his name was much less applauded than that of the other newcomer.

“Are you quite sure about this, Albus?” 

Dumbledore turned to see Minerva McGonagall’s concerned look. The meeting was over and the staff was leaving the room, each headed to their own quarters to rest and begin the arrangements of the new school term.

“About what, specifically, Minerva?”

“About that Snape boy teaching here. It's at least an _odd_ choice, don't you think?” She stopped but Dumbledore didn't say anything, so she decided to continue. “Well, first of all, he's a boy, he barely left Hogwarts. He'll have students who were his schoolmates.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Yes, I'm aware Severus is quite young but so were you, if I recall correctly, Minerva,” he said, peering her from behind his glasses. “I'm sure he'll find ways to handle this, and given his high skills in Potions, I think he’ll be a great addition to the staff. I am not worried.”

“Well, yes, he is very intelligent but still —” she frowned. “Albus, you know the rumors about him.”

“I do,” his eyes flickered. “And I'll be dead and gone before I let rumors guide my actions as a Headmaster, Minerva.”

* * *

  
  


The school year was supposed to start the next day. It would be Severus’s eighth September in Hogwarts, something he promised himself would never happen. He set a bottle of firewhiskey on the table in front of him and closed his eyes, his mind inevitably traveling to his first trip aboard the Hogwarts Express. 

_It had been a full month of planning, two years of his mother working in secret while his father was at the factory so she could buy his school supplies and — even though he didn't really know that, only pictured it — a night of violence when she came back to Spinner's End after leaving him on the train. They had sneaked out of the house as soon as Tobias left for work on the 30th; they spent the night at the Leaky Cauldron, and the next day buying his school supplies. He remembered being full of hope, even though he knew deep down things would not be simple. When they crossed the barrier to Platform 9 ¾ he felt his chest burst with joy —_ It’s real _, he thought,_ it’s really happening _— and his eyes searched immediately for Lily, but before he could find her his mother pulled him to an embrace and kneeled in front of him._

 _“Remember when I told you I would do everything to get you into Hogwarts?” she asked, looking him in the eye. He nodded. “I have kept my promise. You’re about to board the train to school. Severus, this will_ not _be easy. Your father will_ not _be pleased and we'll have a hard time when you're home but we'll make it through. Okay?” He nodded once more. He saw tears pooling in her eyes. “Now, I need you to promise me something.”_

_“Of course, mom. Anything.”_

_“Promise me you will not waste this chance. Promise me you will become a great wizard, one of the best, and will make all this worth it. Can you promise that?”_

_He swallowed and let his eyes rest on hers. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I promise.”_

He opened his eyes 10 years later and he was sitting in his office at Hogwarts. The bottle was still on the table, untouched. He thought about his mom’s eyes gleaming as he promised to be a great wizard and could not help his own eyes wandering to his left arm, where he felt a constant tingling, and scowled at himself.

“What a monumental failure I came to be, huh mum?”

And with a flick of his wand, the untouched bottle of firewhiskey disappeared.

* * *

“Severus, how are your classes going? Is there something I can do for you?”

Dumbledore was at his desk in his magnificent office. The place had always intimidated him and he could not remember a single positive memory in there. Severus sighed and eyed him nervously. 

“Yes, Headmaster. Everything is — well, I suppose.”

He was lying, of course. His first week had been a complete disaster and he could never have imagined a worse outcome to his new career. He knew it was not going to be easy but he had not expected it to be so fucking hard. 

His first classes were with younger students, and even though none had been disrespectful or rude to him, he was appalled to see that they simply couldn't follow instructions. Thrice they had managed to almost blow up the entire classroom. He had no idea what to do to make them understand that they should pay attention to their cauldrons, that potion-making was not about foolish wand-waving but precision and focus. By Wednesday all of his energy was already drained and he was willing to die a painful death in the Dark Lord’s hands if the alternative was being stuck in this job forever. 

But then Thursday came and things somehow managed to get worse. The fifth-years were absolutely reckless and did not seem to care at all when he pointed out their mistakes; the fourth-years were even worse than the young kids and he had to separate an actual fistfight between two Gryffindors in the middle of the class. He sighed in relief when the day ended and hoped it would be better with the 6th and 7th years; at least they were N.E.W.T. students and would be interested in actually learning — but oh boy, he was _so wrong_. 

It was not that they weren't interested in and intrigued by Potions; they were — except they positively had no interest in _him_ . They followed the book instructions instead of his own, which he had carefully crafted throughout all his years studying and testing recipes; they simply ignored whatever he said and kept doing what he had specifically told them _not_ to do. Whenever he corrected them, they simply dismissed him, sometimes with a sarcastic smile on their young faces. And all the four houses seemed to have colluded against him: even though Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws were far worse, his Slytherins did not show any respect for him either. They all just acted as if he was not even there, as if he was just a boring fly buzzing around their ears. When his last class ended on Friday he was at a loss. Could he just take _all_ of their points? Could he put them in detention for the rest of the term? Because that's what he wanted to do. 

He left his classroom, head still spinning, and went straight to the gardens, walking aimlessly until he found a deserted spot where he could light a cigarette. He hated this, he thought, pressing his forehead. He opened his eyes and looked resentfully to the castle. Sometimes he wished he could just forget everything he had lived there — and he would even throw away the few good things if it meant being able to forget all the agonizing hours trying to achieve something he did not even know what it was. What was he trying to become, anyway? What _could_ he become, being who he was — being _what_ he was? He had known all along that he was doomed to fail — and it was no one else’s fault if he had allowed himself, even if for a short time, to forget this.

* * *

**December 1977**

The closer Severus got to his graduation, the more frequently his thoughts had been trailing off to the promise he had made to this mother in King's Cross. Sometimes he felt silly about it — she was dead now anyway, wouldn’t be there to look disappointed in him; _no one_ expected _anything_ from him, and it was not as if he had something good to offer.

When Severus boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time, all he could think about was Lily. She was still upset with him — he knew he shouldn't have said those things about her sister but Petunia had a way to get to him; she knew the exact buttons she had to push to make him doubt and hate a little more everything about himself — his looks, his clothes, his language. So he didn't (he couldn’t) miss a chance to strike back whenever a chance was presented, and that summer he had found the perfect weapon: she was so jealous of Lily's magic, of Lily's magical future opening up in front of her, that Severus hadn't held back. Now Lily was mad at him, mad that he had used her to hurt Petunia. He was not sorry for hurting her sister but he didn't want Lily to hate him. 

“We’re going! We’re really going to Hogwarts!” he said brightly, and it seemed to cheer her up. 

But then those two boys ruined it. How were they any different than Petunia, mocking him for his looks? Severus had legitimately thought he would not have to deal with this sort of scorn at Hogwarts. His mother had made him think this place would welcome him, receive him with arms wide open; he had dreamed about leaving the Muggle world, where his father hated him for being what he was, where he could never feel safe around kids his age, except for Lily; for four years he had dreamed about stepping into a world where he could be himself and be praised, cherished, maybe even _loved_ for who he was — a bright kid, willing to learn everything and become a great wizard.

That first meeting with James Potter and Sirius Black, however, had set the path to his worst nightmares. From day one he felt once more rejected, avoided — everyone looked down at him as if he was a rotten insect. It wasn't much different among the Slytherin house, but he slowly managed to blend in, even though they never actually recognized him as their equal. But some of them saw his potential and nurtured it. As he slowly grew apart from Lily — she was too busy, she had things to do with her friends, she couldn't make it — he got more and more in touch with his housemates. 

It didn't lead him anywhere, though. When he reached his seventh year he was not much different from what he was when he arrived at Hogwarts. There were differences, of course — he wasn’t friends with Lily anymore; he had no expectations regarding his future in the magical world; his knowledge in magic had grown exponentially; he had managed to gather some money from tutoring younger students. However, he was still a nobody. A half-blood with no perspective of becoming someone decent, much less the great wizard he had promised his mother he would.

When he woke up that December morning, seven years after boarding that train for the first time, he decided to do something unexpected: he was going to Hogsmeade. He usually avoided these trips because they often meant trouble: Potter and his crew reveled on the idea of catching him outside school — not that they ever held back when they were in Hogwarts, but they definitely got even bolder outside it. Severus had spent a good amount of his Hogsmeade time hiding from them or fighting them, or more frequently being humiliated by them. He had dropped the visits for good in his fifth year and didn't feel as if he was missing anything. 

But that Saturday he woke up and thought, _Fuck it_. It was a cold morning; the snow was falling lazily on the grounds, and this would be the last visit before Christmas break, which he would spend at the school because it was still better than going back to Cokeworth. At school, he could at least roam the library shelves and practice magic. It would also be the last visit before his birthday, and even though he wasn't inclined to actually celebrate it, he decided to indulge in it. It would be easier to blend in among the other students in winter clothes, so maybe no one would even notice him. There was also, of course, the fact that James Potter was now too busy dating Lily to chase him around as much as he used to. He felt his insides turn unpleasantly at this thought. 

He had never been interested in Lily — not like _this_ , anyway; they were friends ( _had been_ , he corrected himself), best friends. He liked being with her, sneaking out of his house to meet her and talk about magic (his father too drunk to notice, Lily jumping when she saw him, the hours they spent in the park reading about potions and spells), listening to Muggle music in her bedroom (she had a huge collection and the last time Severus went to her house she had shown him the punk records she had secretly bought; his eyes lit up in excitement but they kept coming back to The Beatles — they adored them —, and he still remembered that afternoon with her in all the details, one of the best they had ever had together, their favourite record spinning as they lay on the floor), laughing with her (she had the best jokes, the brightest sense of humour and could brush any bad mood off of him), going to the movies together (her father would pay for them and they would watch the same movie every week during summer). He missed each and every second they had spent together. But _kissing_ her? _Dating_ her? It had never crossed his mind. Still, he felt terrible when he saw her with Potter for the first time a few weeks before. They were holding hands in the corridor, and Potter leaned and kissed her cheek, and she giggled and looked back at him, her face lit up in joy. Severus stared at them from a distance. She seemed genuinely happy, and he wanted her to be happy — but how could she look at _Potter_ like that? The same guy who she claimed to loathe, the one who had made her best friend’s life hell? He couldn't understand what had changed; Potter was still the same arrogant git, so what did she see in him? Maybe _she_ had been the one to change. Maybe she didn't care anymore about Severus, didn't mind if he was still being tortured; maybe she even enjoyed it now that Potter was her boyfriend. 

He knew he had hurt her when he called her a Mudblood; in fact, that was exactly what he wanted to. He didn't have any specific feelings about her being a Muggleborn, it didn’t actually matter to him — however, his mother was right when she said Muggleborns could be 'complicated': being a Muggleborn was a demarcation of _what_ you could do, _where_ you could go, _with whom_ you could be friends. 

He had learned this in his first week of school when he was questioned about his friendship with Lily by some older Slytherins and he said he didn't see any problems with her blood status, to which someone — he never found out who — punched him in the ribs. The air was expelled from his lungs and he felt another two or three strikes before someone told them off and dispersed the crowd. He looked up and saw Lucius Malfoy, the prefect, offering a hand.

Malfoy was kind; he asked if Severus needed to be healed, then said, “Let's go for a walk, Snape.” They walked in silence for a long time, then the prefect stopped, leaned on the wall of a deserted corridor, and observed Severus — who was getting growingly uneasy — with genuine curiosity.

“So, enlighten me,” Malfoy finally said, a thin smile on his lips. “You really had the nerve to tell Nott and Lestrange that you don't care about someone’s blood status?”

Severus blushed furiously and opened his mouth to say something, but Malfoy cut him off.

“Look, I get it. She's your friend, right? You were friends before Hogwarts, you can't just cut the cord like this. I get it.” He smiled reassuringly and Severus’s muscles loosened up a bit. “Besides, Muggleborns are not _all_ bad, right? I mean, _some_ of them must be nice, I guess. She's probably one of the cool ones. It's okay if you like her.” He paused for a bit. “But let me give you a piece of advice because I think you're a nice young man, Severus — I can call you Severus, right? Well, here's some advice for you. Talk less. Smile more. Be smart. I don't know how things are between Muggles and wizards where you and your friend live, but _here_ they’re not exactly sunshines and daisies. So be canny. Don't stand up to people you can't match. I'm sure you'll be powerful one day but right now you're just fresh meat. Don't mess with Nott and Lestrange. Don't go around saying you don't care about blood status. It might not matter to you, but it matters to everyone else around here. You're a smart guy, be smart about this too.”

What Malfoy told him that afternoon affected everything Severus did subsequently, including his relationship with Lily. Their friendship slowly became a dirty little secret they kept from everyone else. It was a wordless agreement: they never talked about it, but they both knew how their respective housemates looked at them when they were together, so they avoided it. Around their third year, they set up a meeting spot where they could be themselves for a few moments, and every time they met Severus felt his energies renewed. He missed her a lot when they were apart, and she said she missed him, too. But they were smart kids; they both knew better.

Severus never defied those above him again; eventually, he got closer to some of the people who laughed at Muggleborns and trash-talked them. He didn't get the appeal of their jokes, but he laughed along. He did not honestly think being a Muggleborn affected someone’s magic — he had seen Lily's magical skills well enough to even flirt with this idea. But he quickly grasped how it affected someone’s social position in the wizarding world — and he knew all too well what it meant to be less than others. 

That afternoon, when he lashed out at her, he didn't say that word because he thought she was less of a witch for being a Muggleborn; he said it because he knew it would hurt her as much as her half-smile at seeing him humiliated, hung in the air and exposed, had hurt him. He chose the exact words to shoot to kill. He had a lot of regrets about that but Lily wouldn't listen to him. It was her prerogative, he supposed. He had given her space. He respected that she didn't want to be friends with him anymore, even if it hurt like being punched in the mouth repeatedly. Even if he thought about her every day. Even if he felt as if he had lost the only person who could truly see him.

And now she was dating _James fucking Potter_. He just hoped not to see them, he thought as he walked to Hogsmeade that December morning. He was going to the bookstore and he'd buy himself a Christmas gift; he would stop by the Three Broomsticks and get a Butterbeer to warm his body; he'd sit somewhere and let his eyes rest on a landscape different from the walls and grounds of the school. He was going to have a good day. He deserved that.

The bookstore was empty and Severus spent a long time among the bookshelves until he settled on a leather-bound book of ancient potions. He paid for it (maybe a bit more than what he could afford, which meant being extra careful with money over the next months) and walked towards the pub to get a drink, his mind still on the few lines he had read of the book, anticipating the things he would read about when he could finally sit somewhere and enjoy his birthday present.

“Severus Snape!” someone called from behind him, and he instinctively reached for his wand, even though he was positive that the voice was neither Black’s nor Potter’s. He turned around cautiously and found himself facing an adult Lucius Malfoy smiling at him. “Just the man I was looking for.”

“Lucius,” he replied with a shy smile. Malfoy came towards him and took his hand, shaking it affectionately.

“You look good, Severus,” Lucius said, measuring him from head to toe, and Severus blushed furiously, looking down. He knew Malfoy was being polite, warming him up. He was a nice person; he made you feel special around him if he wanted you to like him. He excelled at it.

"Oh no, you were always the one with good looks, Lucius. Nothing has changed on that matter.”

Malfoy laughed, waving a hand dismissively, even though it was the truth. Severus hadn't seen him in a while. He had always looked handsome but now he had a more mature air around him — he was what now, twenty-one? Twenty-two? Something like that. His blond hair was longer, he looked taller and solid like an adult person should look. Real, reliable. He was wearing black robes with a single line of silver buttons, an emerald pin glimmering on his chest. Severus realized he was actually breathless looking at Lucius and looked away, trying to disguise any desire that might have crossed his eyes.

“Let's have a drink, shall we?” Lucius said, already leading the way to the pub. There was no saying ‘no’ to Lucius Malfoy, and he always made sure you said ‘yes’ at your own accord.

They sat by the window and Lucius waved at Rosmerta, who brought them two glasses of firewhiskey. Malfoy raised his glass and tipped his head towards Severus, who mirrored the gesture. He sipped and repressed a grimace.

“I've been thinking about you a lot, Severus. I actually came here in hopes of meeting you. I am really glad it happened,” he smiled. 

“Why, I'm flattered, Lucius, but why have I been occupying your mind?”

“Well, it's a — ah — _delicate_ matter but I think you’ll be interested. I'm sure you have heard about the Dark Lord,” he said, lowering his voice, eyes gleaming. Severus gave a curt nod. “He's an amazing wizard, Severus. Indeed amazing. Jaw-dropping, I would say; I think you'd be marveled by him — and honestly, I am certain he'd be fascinated by you.”

“By _me_?” he retorted in disbelief. “I'm sure you are exaggerating.”

“I'm not, though. You see, I happen to be currently — ah — on his service. We are close, and he trusts me. He's a _brilliant_ wizard, Severus, and he will change our world, he'll build a world that is made for _us_. A safe world, where wizards will be able to truly be free.” He skimmed Severus's face, then he laughed lightly. “But here I am — preaching to the choir. I am certain you're aware of how much our world needs to change; seven years in Hogwarts must have been enough to grasp this.”

He sipped his firewhiskey and Severus did the same, hoping it would dismiss him from having to actually say something. He had no opinion on whatever world needed to be built. Old or new, the wizarding world would never be truly for him. Lucius continued and Severus silently thanked heavens. 

“But as I said, I am very close to him, and lately he has been somewhat displeased with his potioneer, who has ended up being a dull, regular man. Lacks brilliance, an _essential_ trait to work with the Dark Lord. And when he complained about this your name immediately came to my mind. Who’s more of a Potions genius than Severus Snape?” he smiled flatteringly, and Severus snorted, embarrassed. “I'm serious, Severus. I recommended your name, I told him about how brilliant you were since year one in Hogwarts, and he was genuinely interested in meeting you. That's why I came here.”

He smiled and Severus raised his eyebrows.

“I'm not — I don't — Lucius, look, I am _flattered_ that you thought about me but I really don't —”

“Why not? You're about to graduate. Do you have any position in mind? Has anyone offered you a job yet?”

Severus looked away, embarrassed. “No, but —” 

“Then why not _meet_ him? It's just a conversation. No strings attached.”

Severus stayed in silence. He needed a job, he knew that, but this didn't sound like a good deal. It was too political. He hated politics. 

Lucius leaned forward, his face now closer to Severus. 

“Severus, tell me: have you ever dreamed of being big? Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be great — to be _the best_ at something? Not _school_ stuff,” he snorted, waving a dismissive hand and looking back into Severus’s eyes, “I'm talking about the _real_ world. Have you ever wondered about doing something so grand that your name would end up in books?” He smiled. Severus was entranced now, his eyes locked in Lucius’s. “I know you have. We're fellow Slytherins and this is our distinctive trait, after all, right? Ambition? Tell me, Severus, if you were to achieve your biggest goal, what would it be?”

Severus swallowed hard and said nothing. He hated that Lucius had read him so well. He did dream of doing grand things. He had promised his mother he would do grand things.

“You don't have to answer, but I would like you to think about it because what I am offering you is the opportunity of a lifetime. Will you at least consider going to the meeting?”

Severus nodded. Lucius smiled, satisfied. He sipped his firewhiskey and looked around, while Severus allowed himself to subtly admire Malfoy’s face and hands, a strange feeling in his stomach. Suddenly Lucius looked back at him, eyes glimmering, and Severus looked away.

“You know what? I have an idea. Christmas break starts next week, right? Come spend it at my house.”

Severus startled. “What — no, Lucius, I —”

“Come on, it will be fun. You remember Narcisa, of course? We're engaged now. We'll spend the next few weeks with some friends, and you are more than welcome in the Manor. I know it's short notice but I'm sure you can manage.”

“Lucius, I'm honoured but I couldn't possibly —”

“I won't accept a no. These friends I mentioned happen to be part of our select group, you see, so you’ll have the chance to warm up to the idea of talking to the Dark Lord. We're all nice people, you'll see. It'll be great.”

Severus opened his mouth to object once more but the pub doors opened and a loud group entered. His eyes were attracted by the disturbance and he saw Sirius Black laughing, boasting about whatever he had gotten away with this time. He was talking to Remus Lupin, no sign of Potter or Lily, and instinctively Severus narrowed his eyes and reached for his wand inside his sleeve, his heart racing. 

“Severus,” he heard Lucius’s voice calling him and looked back at the man in front of him. “Can I tell Narcisa you'll be gifting us with the joy of your presence for the holidays?”

Severus downed his firewhiskey and nodded, as Lucius opened a delighted smile. 

* * *

**September — October, 1981**

His second week as a teacher was as bad as the first, and the third, as bad as the second. Meanwhile, Dumbledore had been crafting small, confusing informational bits for him to feed the Dark Lord whenever he was summoned. Severus was scared he might make a mistake and get himself — or worse, Lily — killed, and that made him start practicing Occlumency on a daily basis to guarantee he could shield his memories completely. He used the park in Cokeworth as a safe place, somewhere his mind could go and build everything he wanted the Dark Lord to see, exactly as it needed to be seen. It was working, but manufacturing memories instead of just concealing them was incredibly exhausting, and he felt drained most of the time. He was barely eating and was smoking three times his usual amount. He felt life leaking off him but every day he woke up at 5 AM, brewed resistance serums and dreamless sleep potions, meditated for 2 hours, and only then left for the Great Hall, where he drank too much coffee and ate too little food. After classes, he meditated again and practiced building memories until he was called by Dumbledore for a private meeting or summoned by the Dark Lord. If neither of those things happened he would down a dose of dreamless sleep and faint motionless; then he would wake up and start again. In the beginning, the Dark Lord seemed pleased with his services, but the rumours about a spy — one with more trustworthy clues — were stronger by the day, so gradually he was being forgotten, dismissed from meetings, and had to linger around to catch scraps of information from other Death Eaters to bring back to Dumbledore.

“I'm not useful anymore,” he told Dumbledore one evening, head resting on his hands. “He has someone more important, someone who can give him better information. He's slowly dismissing me, Headmaster, and soon I won't be able to bring you anything worthy.”

“We'll figure something out, Severus. We have to be patient —”

“We have _no_ _time_ to be patient! There’s someone among your people giving out essential information to the Dark Lord! It's a matter of time before he gets to them!”

Dumbledore stared at him in silence, skimming his face for a long time; the young man seemed to have aged a few years in the 2 months they had been working together at the school.

“You have to find out who the spy is,” Severus whispered, and his eyes were filled with despair. He was begging.

“I am working on that, Severus. I need you to try and find something on your side, too. Maybe someone who talks a bit too much?”

“No one knows who they are. No one at my level, at least, and the others have kept their distance.” He sighed. “Headmaster, sooner or later their information will beat mine. We're running out of time.”

They stayed in silence for a while. Then Dumbledore got to his feet. 

“I will reinforce their protections tonight, and we'll move them again until the end of the week. I’ll take them to a safe place. A _safer_ one.”

They were moved but as usual, he got no notice on the location. It was better this way. He was still afraid his defenses would fail and he would be the one to give the Dark Lord the definitive information that would kill Lily — he had already given him the information that made him chase her, and he preferred not having anything that important in his head. It was safer.

The next time he was summoned it was already October, and when he arrived the Dark Lord wanted to see him. He took a deep breath and let his mind settle in the park before kneeling before the wizard.

“My Lord,” Severus greeted respectfully.

“Severus,” he heard Voldemort's silky voice in response; it was his most dangerous voice. “What do you have for me?”

He had nothing. That night he thought he would break — he got really close. He had never felt that kind of pain, so constant and so deep in every fiber of his body as if each one of his cells was being crushed. He left the room limping, his face scratched after rolling on the floor, and when he disapparated he immediately knew there was something wrong; his left knee hurt as if someone was slowly sawing it off. Already in Hogsmeade, he looked down and saw blood drenching his trousers.

Dumbledore had a worried expression when he observed him a few minutes later, applying dittany to his wound as he panted, hissing every time the potion touched his flesh.

“It's just a splinch, you'll be fine in a couple of days.”

“Headmaster,” he said in a strangled voice. “I'm afraid I can no longer be of assistance.”

“And what do you mean by that, Severus?”

He wiped the sweat off his forehead, breathing fast, unable to fix his eyes anywhere. He looked on the verge of insanity.

“He doesn't trust me anymore, I think. Not as much as he used to. I was rising among his followers, I was getting near his inner circle but now I am back at being nobody.” He took several deep breaths and tried to steady his voice before saying, “I don't think I will come back alive from the next summons.”

Dumbledore frowned and inhaled deeply.

“We’re walking a very thin line here. We have to give him something accurate so he can trust you but not too accurate so he'll actually find them. Let's work together and I am sure we can manage something that fits these criteria.”

“I don't think this can be done anymore. And I'm not the priority in this arrangement, so —”

“Severus, of course you —”

“This is not an accusation, Dumbledore. It's a reminder that if it comes to this, if you have to choose _someone_ to survive here, it should _not_ be me.”

Dumbledore studied his face, then got back to his feet and moved towards his desk. He rearranged the objects on it as if gathering the energy to say whatever he meant to say next.

“I have been thinking about a possibility. A plan to protect the Potters in a sort of definitive way — not definitive as in they would be untouchable but as a last resort.” He paused for a bit. “Are you familiar with the Fidelius Charm?”

Severus's eyes widened. “I am, but do you really think it is safe?”

“I think it's our best — or rather our _only_ shot at the moment.”

“I don't think I like this idea,” he shook his head. “I wouldn't put this kind of power in one person’s hand — what if they break? What if they reveal the secret?”

“Would _you_ break?” Dumbledore asked quietly, eyes twinkling as he skimmed the man staring at him. “If you were to be the Secret Keeper, would you reveal Lily’s location under torture?”

“Of course not! _Never_ — I would rather _die_ and take the information to the grave —”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “Then we surely can find someone else who would do the same.”

* * *

**December 1977**

Severus spent 13 days with Lucius Malfoy. He was welcomed in Christmas week and got one of the (many) spare bedrooms in the enormous house; he couldn't contain a quiet moan when he laid on the softest bed his body had ever laid on. He was at the same time embarrassed and relieved when the house-elf who showed his bedroom also pointed to the wardrobe saying, “These are for you, Sir. A gift from Master Malfoy.”

He opened it and blushed at the sight of brand new robes — fancy ones, with small embroidered details in the cuffs and collar. He was expected in the living room for drinks, so he bathed (he had never seen a bathtub like that) and sighed before putting on one of the new robes. He tied his hair with a silk stripe and looked in the mirror. He was surprised by how much different he was: he looked good, almost handsome — if you were open-minded about handsomeness. He walked down the long corridor and descended the stairs, finding Lucius sitting by the fireplace with a glass of firewhiskey in his hand, the bottle, and an empty glass laying on the table. 

“Lucius,” he said to announce his presence. Malfoy looked at him, smiled, and got to his feet, opening his arms and beckoning at Severus, whose eyes were fixed on the other's impressive figure. 

“Severus Snape. Look at you! What a handsome young man.”

Severus snorted. “You really shouldn't have —”

Lucius raised a hand, signaling him to stop. “Don't start. It was a gift. I am allowed to offer gifts to my friends, aren’t I?”

Severus shrugged. “Okay, then. Thank you for the gift.”

Lucius stood in front of him and closed his hands on Severus's shoulders. “You look magnificent,” he said, and Severus smiled thinly, looking sideways.

“Come have a seat. There's firewhiskey, and virtually any other drink you might want, just say the word and the elf will bring it to you. The other guests will arrive in the afternoon and Narcisa comes tomorrow morning. She's not even remotely interested in our businesses so it'll be good to have a night for ourselves.”

“Do you live here by yourself?”

“Not yet, no,” he answered. “My parents still live here but they are moving to our property in South France in the spring — they're there, by the way, already enjoying their French winter.” He sipped. “This house is my matrimonial heirloom, you see, and it becomes officially mine when I get married — which happens next summer, you will receive the invitation and I will _not_ accept a negative RSVP.” 

He said it with a mockingly threatening voice, and Severus giggled nervously, sipping his whiskey.

“I always liked you, Severus,” Lucius declared, eyes twinkling, and Snape blushed. “Seriously, I always saw something in you. Potential, talent, energy — call it what you want. I always knew we would be part of each other's life in a decisive manner.” He sipped again. “Everything that has held you back until this day is here,” he tapped his forehead, glaring intensely at Severus, “all of the cages keeping you from being great are _mental_ cages, my friend. Soon you’ll get rid of them, and we’re going to do great things together. But,” he smiled, “we’ll have fun first.”

They did. He spent an amazingly enjoyable afternoon with Lucius, and when they received the two other guests — a foreigner called Karkaroff and Selwyn, who was a bit older than the rest of them — he didn't take long to feel comfortable around them. They were interesting people and talked about things he had never spent much time thinking about, such as how Muggles, even if less powerful, were overpowering wizards by forcing them into hiding. He thought about how his life would've been different if his father was a wizard or if at least he didn't hate magic; if his mother was not afraid of losing her husband for being a witch, then he would have had another childhood, surrounded by magic and affection. He listened to them but didn't talk much, only answering the questions directed at him. Even though only Selwyn was much older, Severus felt like a child near them, but they warmed him up, paid attention whenever he spoke, answered his questions when he finally felt comfortable making them. When he went to bed, he had a funny feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the hours of drinking and smoking. He changed to his sleeping gown, laid on the soft, warm bed, and closed his eyes. _So this_ , he thought, _is what it feels like to belong somewhere_. It felt good.

* * *

**October 1981**

“Hi, Dumbledore,” James said in an exhausted voice. “Is everything alright?”

Dumbledore had traveled to the safehouse where the Potters were hidden knowing there were many ways of his plan going in the wrong direction but aware that it was their last resource.

“Yes, everything is under control but we do need to talk. Is Lily awake?”

“Yeah, she’s upstairs with Harry.” He frowned, studying Dumbledore's face. “What happened?”

“I need to talk to you both. Can you ask her to come down here?”

James stared at Dumbledore for a few seconds, then nodded and ran upstairs. He came back with Lily in a few minutes, and she smiled at the sight of him.

“Hi, Albus. It's good to see you. We have a few moments before Harry wakes up and burns the house down.”

Dumbledore beamed. “How's he?”

“Oh, he's great. He's —” she teared up and swallowed hard. “He's a sweet boy, just not fond of sleeping full nights, which is, you know, _maddening_.”

“I guess no baby is,” he said, smiling at her. 

“Would you fancy some tea?” James asked.

“Thank you, James, but no. I can’t stay long, so let’s get to business, shall we?”

They nodded apprehensively and headed to the living room, sitting in silence for a while. 

“I'm afraid we'll have to move you once more until the end of the week,” Dumbledore finally said with a sigh.

Lily and James exchanged looks.

“What changed this time?” she asked. 

“I’m contemplating new ways to protect you. Safer ways.”

“But is this location compromised at the moment?” James asked, his voice trembling slightly. 

"Not as of yet, no. But it may be soon.”

They glanced at each other again. Dumbledore continued.

“As you know, I have an informant, an inside agent among Voldemort's fold. They have shared a concern with me, that the information arriving at Lord Voldemort's hand is getting increasingly accurate. And my informant is concerned that their information might be outrun soon.” He paused for a bit, studying their faces. “We believe it is not enough to move you around anymore. We have to use new protections. I am thinking about the Fidelius Charm.”

Lily frowned. “The Fidelius Charm? Isn't it too dangerous? I mean — placing this kind of power in a person’s hand. What if they break?”

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed and a thin smile danced on his lips but vanished quickly.

“This is always a possibility, of course. But some people wouldn’t break, who would rather die than give up the information they conceal.”

James glanced at Lily and looked back at Dumbledore.

“Yes, but this means we'll have to endanger one more person. It will put a target on someone else’s back.”

"Well, yes. But we are in the middle of a war — we are all compromised with this cause. Everyone in the Order is willing to die if this means defeating Voldemort.”

“Either way, I'd rather not increase the chance of someone's death,” James said definitively. "We should find another option."

Lily agreed, “I don't like this idea either.”

Dumbledore sighed and opened his mouth but James interrupted. “Also, doing this because a _spy_ brought uncertain information — I don't know, Albus. How can we know this person is trustworthy? What if it's a way of double-crossing you and getting Voldemort in our tracks?”

Dumbledore stared at him. “I trust my informant. The information this person has brought me has been definitive in our operations so far. It has saved many lives, including yours.”

James sighed. “I don't trust spies. I know we _need_ them — but I just can’t bring myself to truly trust them. You can never really know who they are working for.”

“This one is working for us, I assure you.”

“Is it someone we know?” Lily asked. 

Dumbledore smiled. “Lily, you know very well this is the kind of information I cannot give you — or to anyone, for what matters. It would put them in even more danger than they're already facing.”

She stared at him, narrowing her eyes. James continued.

“If you can't share their identity for us to feel secure of their allegiance, then I think we should study other possibilities rather than the Fidelius.”

“What good would it do, honestly?” Dumbledore asked. “This person was a Death Eater, they defected, and now I vouch for their allegiance. This is the important thing. Nothing I tell you about them will increase your trust in whatever information they offer. What _does_ make a difference is the fact that their information has always been accurate. This is what matters.”

“I understand, Dumbledore, but please try and understand our side, too — we have been hiding for months, all of our friends are either dead or in danger of dying any minute, we have a one-year-old being hunted by Voldemort in person and now you're asking us to endanger yet another person because some ex-Death Eater said it would be a good idea.”

Dumbledore didn't answer immediately. Lily's head was tipped to the side, her eyes still locked on Dumbledore's face.

“I understand I am asking a lot of you, James. But let's be clear: my informant did not suggest the Fidelius. It was my idea. They actually share Lily's concern that it is too much power to enclose in a person. But I still think it's our best shot.”

“Is it Severus?” Lily asked suddenly.

Dumbledore looked at her, unable to hide the surprise in his eyes. “I'm sorry?”

“Your spy, double agent or whatever — is it Severus Snape?”

Dumbledore stared at her for long seconds, and she sustained his glare. He was aware that she had seen the truth in his face, so he sighed and said, “Yes.”

“ _What_?!” James inquired, baffled. “You're moving us around based on the information given by _Snape_?”

But Dumbledore's eyes were still on Lily's face, who was now staring at the wall behind him, a crease between her eyebrows, her eyes distant.

“So he defected? He's not one of them anymore?” she asked quietly. 

“Yes, he's been working for us for quite some time now.”

“I don't believe him,” James stated. “I don't trust him, and I can't believe you have —”

“As I said, James," Dumbledore interrupted, his patience reaching a limit, “his information has saved you many times in the last year.”

“Well, this is great, but I'm sorry — I’m not trusting Snape. He hates us!”

“That is a strong statement, James,” Dumbledore said in a warning voice.

“I don't think he _hates_ me,” Lily murmured, frowning.

Dumbledore’s eyes went back to her.

“He _hates_ Muggleborns, Lily.” James had turned to her. “He was a Death Eater, he was out there _killing_ people like you.”

Lily looked at James and then stared at Dumbledore. Her eyes were clouded, and she seemed to be making a decision. 

“I think you would be surprised at how much people can change given the circumstances. It still marvels me, honestly,” Dumbledore said, smiling at her.

She nodded slowly, then something shifted in her eyes. 

“I want to see him.”

“ _What_?” Jamer shrieked.

“Absolutely not, Lily,” Dumbledore replied gravely.

“I won't agree to the Fidelius unless I get to talk to Severus,” she stated in a firm voice. 

“You've got to be kidding —” James started but Dumbledore warned him with a stern look and he crossed his arms, his face still frowned, mouth open in disbelief. 

“You know very well I can't do this, Lily. It's dangerous, _too dangerous_ , for everyone involved. It could kill him and endanger you and James — and I already exposed him too much by telling you about his position.”

“If we’re going under the Fidelius, then Voldemort won't be able to get this information from us, and if Severus has been spying for you for so long, then he has already proven his concealing abilities.”

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he stared at Lily, looking adamant about her decision.

“Lily, listen,” James said in a contained voice. “I'm not saying this because it's _him_ , okay? I know you two were close at some point but this is _not_ a smart idea. You'd be exposed to someone who is in direct contact with Voldemort. And even if we put this aside, where would you meet him without putting everything at risk?”

“I think we can manage something. One of the other safe houses, or this one after we move. It's manageable — isn't it, Albus?”

He peered at her face.

“It could be, yes,” he said quietly.

James started complaining but Dumbledore ignored him. "But I am more inclined to stand with James in this matter, Lily. I think it would be an unnecessary risk — and honestly, what good could it possibly do?”

She snorted. “What good would it do? He was my _best friend_! The person who told me I was a witch, who said I wasn't a freak, who made me realize I was special — and then one day he’s killing people like me as if I was nothing to him — as if there was never _any_ affection between us.” She swallowed hard, and her eyes were burning with intensity behind tears. “It would do a goddamn good to _know_ — to look him in the eye and see that the boy I once knew and loved is still inside him somehow.”

“If it's any consolation, I don't think he was ever out there killing Muggleborns like other Death Eaters,” Dumbledore replied in a soft voice.

She scowled. “You know what I mean.”

“I do, yes,” he smiled at her, as teary-eyed as she was.

James shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you're considering this. You're actually going to arrange a meeting with a creepy guy who not only was into you but also hates people like you enough to join an organization intended to wipe you out of the planet?”

Lily laughed genuinely. “He was not _into_ me, for Merlin's sake! I'm pretty sure he's gay, it's more likely that he fancied _you_.”

James stared at her incredulously. 

“He was like my brother, James," she whispered in a strangled voice. "It felt like losing my _brother_. I need to know if he's still alive.”

James glared at her, his eyes still suspicious. Then he sighed. “Alright, then.”

* * *

**July 1978**

The moon was high and the sky was clear when Severus was received in the Malfoy Manor that summer evening. He had been a regular guest since last Christmas and Lucius had become a good friend. Severus had come back for Easter break and just a few weeks ago he had received the invitation to Lucius and Narcisa’s wedding, which would take place in August. They met regularly in Hogsmeade for drinks. Every time, Lucius managed to get him more intrigued by this Lord and the possibility of working for him but there had been no other suggestion of a meeting. He had met some other of their select group, and they all praised him, telling him they had heard his name before, that he was set out to be great, especially if he joined them — but no one directly offered him a job. He had been fidgeting with the idea of saying yes if Lucius mentioned it again. He could go and listen, see what they had to offer. No strings attached.

The last time he met Lucius he had decided to bring up the subject if the other didn't. He hesitated and opened his mouth many times, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. Lucius had done so much for him already — could he really push him into doing more?

“I should go,” Lucius sighed, looking at his golden pocket watch. “Narcisa will be wondering if I left her for you just before our wedding.”

Severus choked on his firewhiskey and laughed, “Oh I wouldn't stand a chance against her, I'm afraid.”

“You never know,” Lucius smiled mischievously and sipped his drink. “You're graduating next week, am I right?”

Severus nodded.

“Well, congratulations then, my friend,” Lucius raised his glass and offered a toast. “You've done well.” He paused. “Have you given any thought about the offer I made you?”

Severus's stomach jolted. “I have, yes.”

Lucius nodded and sipped again. “And can I get you a meeting with him?”

Severus hesitated, his heart racing. “Yes, I would appreciate that, Lucius.”

Lucius opened up a smile. “Excellent. You won't regret it.” He downed the rest of his drink and got up, “I’ll owl you about where and when.”

The owl didn't take long to arrive, but the three weeks he had to wait almost killed him. He graduated with top marks and left Hogwarts without looking back. He went back to Cokeworth, to the empty house his father had left him when he jumped off a bridge barely a year after Eileen fell off the stairs and died. Severus kept a simple routine: during the day read a lot, studied potions, and perfected recipes as well as his spells and curses; in the evening he opened the firewhiskey and waited. And now he was here, the door to the Malfoy Manor opening and Lucius waiting for him in the living room, a proud smile on his face as he held Severus's shoulder. 

“He'll receive you in the main office. Take a deep breath and go, he's waiting for you. Would you like a sip for courage?” he offered a glass of firewhiskey and Severus downed it. Lucius held his face with both hands and looked him in the eyes. “It’s the last door on the right. Knock, wait for his sign and go inside. You've got this.”

Severus nodded and walked down the hall, breathing slowly before knocking. The door opened.

“Come on in,” he heard a voice say. He walked to the desk and waited in front of it.

“Severus, it is good to finally meet you,” the man said, turning the chair to face him. There was something about his face, something strange, but Severus couldn't quite place it, and he looked down to avoid being disrespectful.

“I can say the same, sir.”

“Sit down.”

Severus obeyed and placed his trembling hands on his lap, steadying them.

“Lucius has told me good things about you.”

“Lucius is a generous friend, sir.”

“He told me you were the best potioneer he knew. Said you were set out to do grand things and that I should absolutely get you by my side.”

“I would appreciate it if you considered doing that, sir. But like I said, sometimes Lucius can be too generous.”

“You were in Slytherin with him, I was told.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But your last name tells me you're not a pureblood.”

Severus swallowed hard. “No, sir. I'm a half-blood. My mother was a witch. From the Prince family.”

“Do you like your father?”

“No,” he said. He felt strangely at ease talking about this with a complete stranger. He felt open, exposed, but not in an uncomfortable way.

“Why not?”

“He beat me because I was a wizard. And he beat my mother because she was a witch. He made our lives hell.”

They stayed in silence.

“Tell me about your interest Potions.”

“I started studying Potions when I was a kid. It was always my favorite subject and it was easy for me. I perfected recipes from my school books, I created new mixtures with better effects.”

“Interesting.”

“I created spells, too,” he said before he could stop himself. 

“Spells?”

“Yes, sir. Defensive spells, and offensive, too. Hexes and — curses.”

Voldemort's eyes were bright in the shadowy office.

“Were they useful to you?”

“Yes, sir. I used them against people who targeted me in school.”

“Very well.”

Silence took over again. Severus felt his insides melting; had he said something wrong? What a stupid git he was, he thought. Too eager to please, ruining his first shot at something good.

“Tell me, Severus. How did your mother die?”

Severus frowned, "She — she fell off the stairs and knocked her head. She bled to death.”

He didn't remember mentioning his mother was dead, but he pushed this to the back of his mind. He waited for some kind of solidarity but it didn't come. 

“Where was your father when it happened?”

“At home, I suppose. Probably too drunk to help her.”

“And where is your father now?”

“He's dead, too. Jumped off a bridge a few months ago.”

“I see,” he said and paused. Severus waited. “Tell me, Severus. If it had come down to this — if you had had the chance — would you have killed your father?”

Severus frowned. He had never thought about this so straightforwardly. He had of course thought about hurting his father many times, had even done it eventually when defending himself or his mother, but he had never openly asked himself this: would he have killed his father? Would he _like_ to have done it? 

He felt things moving inside him, pieces of memories and thoughts falling into place like a puzzle. He saw his mother falling down the stairs, his father not sleeping drunk on the couch but upstairs, pushing her. Severus realized he always knew _this_ had been the real scenario of her death but for whatever reason, his mind had tricked him into believing something else. His insides burned. And he understood that the weird emptiness he felt when his father died had nothing to do with the fact that he was dead but with the chance of killing him being robbed off of Severus. He looked up, daring to stare into Lord Voldemort's face. 

“Yes, I wish I had been the one to kill him.”

Those strange eyes studied Severus's face. 

“And tell me, Severus. If you could help to build a world where no witch or wizard would be overpowered by Muggles like this — a world where what happened to you and your mother would _never_ happen to anyone ever again, would you do it? Would you like to help build this new world?”

Severus felt his hands shaking slightly on his lap, but his voice was steady and he was calm when he said, “Yes, sir. I would very much like to be part of this.”

“So will you work with me?”

“I will.”

* * *

**October 1981**

“I won't,” Severus protested, fear clouding his eyes. “I won't do this!"

“Severus, be reasonable,” Dumbledore said from behind his desk.

“Oh, you think _I_ am the unreasonable one here? You disclosed my identity! You compromised my position!”

“I had no choice, really. She pointedly asked me if you were the spy.”

“You should have lied.”

“I should, but I took one second too long. She caught me off guard.” He sighed. “I'm sorry I gave away your position, Severus, but she _is_ right about this — you are more than capable of concealing this information and they will go under the Fidelius, so you both are still safe.” 

Severus pressed his forehead. “This is a terrible idea, you know it is.”

“I don't think it is _that_ terrible. I understand her point, and I think it would be good for you, too. You both have things to settle.”

He kept silent for a long time, fidgeting his fingers anxiously, scratching off his black nail polish. Then he looked at Dumbledore and sighed, “Fine.”

Dumbledore smiled thinly. “I will arrange things.”

The Headmaster did arrange things. The next day he told Severus they would be out the next morning and that he should be ready by 8. He tried to sleep but his mind wouldn't stop racing. He considered taking a potion but was afraid he would sleep too much, so he spent the night revising recipes. At seven he entered the bathtub and contemplated the idea of simply drowning himself. He got dressed and looked in the mirror; he looked terrible. His eyes were red and injected, he had dark shadows under them, his skin was waxy and pale; he was too thin, as if he hadn't eaten properly in months. He went to the Great Hall and tried to eat but felt he might be sick, so he just drank four mugs of coffee instead. Then he felt a hand on his shoulders and looked up. Dumbledore smiled at him, he nodded and got up, following the Headmaster in silence. When they reached his office, Dumbledore let him enter first.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. 

Severus struggled to say anything so he just mumbled, “Okay, I guess.”

“Well, let me walk you through it. We'll apparate near one of our safe houses, where Lily is waiting for us. James and Harry are not there. It'll be just the three of us.” He paused for a bit. “Severus, there's nothing to be afraid of, you’ll be among friends.”

Severus swallowed hard and gave him a curt nod.

“Are you ready?”

“I am."

“Then let's go.”

They apparated in an alley and walked two blocks until they reached a street with dozens of equal houses. It reminded him of the nice part of Cokeworth; her area, not his. They stopped halfway through the street, and Dumbledore knocked on a white door decorated with a single pumpkin pendant. The door opened and they walked inside, Severus looking at his feet, not daring to look up until it was time to face her. The door closed behind them.

“Hello,” he heard Lily say and his stomach dropped at the sound of her voice — for a moment he felt as if they were kids again, her voice greeting him brightly as they met in the park. He turned and looked at her.

She looked beautiful; her hair was shorter than the last time he had seen her, and her face was bright, alive, as if she had all the life in the world stored inside her. She looked like a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve, in all its glory. 

Mustering all the strength he had in him, he managed a faint, “Hi.”

“Merlin, you look awful,” she said, taking a good look at him.

He snorted, embarrassed. “I know — I couldn't sleep, so — yeah.”

She seemed to be embarrassed, too. Looking away from his face, she said, “Well, come along, you two. I've set the table, we can have tea. You surely look like you need it.”

She led the way to the living room and sat on the sofa. Severus sat right across her and stared at his feet. Dumbledore went to the corner armchair.

“I will stay here as I have promised James but —” he took out his wand and waved it, “— I won’t hear you.”

He smiled and sat down, pulling out a magazine which he promptly started reading.

“He can be weird sometimes,” Lily said, turning back.

“Working with him can be a nightmare,” he said quietly. She giggled a little and served the tea.

“So, you're here,” she said, finally looking at him.

“Yeah,” he answered, raising his eyebrows. 

“I’m glad you agreed to come.”

He slowly raised his eyes and looked at her.

“I'm glad you asked me to.”

She sipped her tea and he mimicked her.

“I guess this is awkward for the both of us so I will try to be straightforward.” She let out a deep breath. “I have three questions for you. Why did you join them? Why did you leave them? And why should I trust you?”

He stared at her, bewildered. He wondered if there was a right answer to any of those questions. Probably not. 

He took a deep breath before starting. “I — I joined them because I was hurt. I was lost and lonely and they welcomed me. He offered me the chance to be someone, to be seen. I felt seen when I was with them.”

She looked disgusted. “You felt _seen_ when you killed Muggles and Muggleborns?" 

He frowned. "I never killed anyone, I — I was a potioneer. I brewed them potions. That was my job.”

She watched him. “And why did you leave? What made you change your mind about being their _potioneer_?”

He opened and closed his mouth. Should he lie? Should he sugar-coat it? Or should he just be honest?

“Because he decided to go after you. And I would never let anyone hurt you if I could stop it.”

She snorted. “Yet _you_ have hurt me, Severus. You called me a Mudblood. Just because you didn't curse me or slap me it doesn't mean it didn't hurt the same — or worse, actually.”

He swallowed hard. “I know. I'm —” 

“You’re sorry, yeah, you've said it many times,” she dismissed him.

He stared at his feet again and the silence swallowed them. Dumbledore was still deeply entertained by his magazine.

“I said it ‘slipped’ but that's not true,” he said. “When I apologized to you, I said it was a mistake, that it wasn't my intention to — to call you a — a Mudblood. But I lied. I said it because I _knew_ it would hurt you.”

She narrowed her eyes and he decided to continue before she murdered him.

“They were hurting me and you — you smiled. It _amused_ you. It felt like a punch, it was worse than anything they had ever done to me. So I wanted to hurt you back.”

He raised his eyes and she had a strange look in her eyes. There was embarrassment but there was also anger. She opened her mouth but he cut her off.

“I'm not saying it was your fault,” he said before she could say anything. “Please don't think that I'm saying that. I'm just — trying to be honest about what I was feeling then.”

She shook her head.

“We were so distant already, Severus. Sometimes I would see you in the corridor and I wouldn’t even _recognize_ you. Your _face_ changed when you were with them. You looked like a completely different person. And I was not a perfect friend, either. Bloody hell, I know I was a shitty friend to you on a regular basis — but gosh, Severus, we were _kids_. We did dumb things, we said dumb things all the time. But that day — what you said — you crossed a line.”

“I know,” he replied in a weak voice.

“I'm not ready to forgive you.”

“Of course, I — I didn't come here in search of forgiveness.”

“Then why did you come?”

“Because I wanted you to know that I'm _trying_ . This is me trying to do something, and it's not easy but it is important to me that you know that I am doing _everything_ in my power to right _everything_ that I did wrong.” He sighed and continued, his voice now lower. “And I guess I wondered if you'd care if I came back, if you’d care what side I was on.”

She frowned. “Of course I cared. I never wanted to see you _dead_ , least of all dead on _their_ side. You’re a huge part of my history and I obviously wanted it to be a good part,” she smiled sadly. “We had so much potential.”

“You still do,” he said quietly. “I wasted mine, but you’re still set out to be great.” He paused. “I guess I still have to answer your last question, and honestly I don't quite know what to say.”

“There's no need.”

She gave him a curt smile and he nodded. Silence spread around them again, then Lily broke it by saying in a low, weak voice, “Things will change, you know? This will end.”

He swallowed hard. “I hope so.”

"One day we’ll be allowed to live again instead of just _surviving_.”

He frowned, opened his mouth, and closed it again, shaking his head. Then he took a deep breath and looked intensely inside her eyes.

“Can we — when this is over, whenever you feel ready — _if_ you ever feel ready, can we — I don't know, spin _Rubber Soul_ and start again?”

She laughed, her eyes lighting up for the first time. She looked back at him, studying the worn-out lines of his face. “Sounds good. Yeah, I guess we could do that.”

* * *

**November 2, 1981**

The night was moonless, but stars spread all over the sky like dust. The cold wind slashed Severus’s face as he stood in the Astronomy Tower, leaned on the parapet. He was looking up but wasn't really seeing anything, his hollow eyes drowned in tears.

“Severus?” he heard Dumbledore's voice coming from the door and wiped his tears. “What are you doing up here?”

“Contemplating suicide.”

Dumbledore walked towards the parapet and leaned beside him, sighing.

“I don't really think that would help any of the people involved, least of all you.”

“Well, _helping_ wouldn't be exactly the goal." His voice was strangled as if he was fighting not to cry out loud. "The plan would be to just follow my fears all the way down there,” he said, looking to the grounds below. He let out a sob. “I killed her.”

“Severus, you tried to save her. You did everything you could to protect her.”

“No, I _killed_ her. I put him on her track and then I convinced her to do the Fidelius. I killed her twice.”

“Lord Voldemort killed her, let's establish that. You did everything that was in your power —”

“ _It was not enough_!”

Dumbledore sighed. “Maybe not. But it was something. And after all, that's life, Severus. More than often doing our best is not enough.”

Severus stayed in silence for a long time, and when he spoke, his voice was weak and distant, as if traveling through time to reach Dumbledore's ears.

“There was this only movie screen in Cokeworth when we were kids. Just one screen in the whole fucking town. They screened the same movie over and over again for months on end until people just stopped going. But we _loved_ it. Her father would pay for our tickets and we went two or three times a week the whole summer until we learned the dialogues by heart, then we would recite them as if we were the actors.” He paused and swallowed hard. “I keep replaying our last conversation in my head as if it were a movie on that one screen in our town.”

“It was a good conversation, I hope,” Dumbledore said quietly, his shaky voice betraying the tears in his eyes.

“Yeah. Promising. Hopeful.”

“Then you have a good memory to keep, Severus. She's alive in your head.”

Severus sighed and resumed contemplating the grounds.

“Severus, please don't jump.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “I won't. I’m too much of a coward.”

Dumbledore hesitated, then said carefully. “There's a party downstairs.”

“I know.”

“Will you come?”

“It's kinda hard to be at a party when I feel like a fucking open wound.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore replied, weakly. “But I would advise you to show up even if just for a few minutes. Let's try not to feed the rumours that you're shaken by Lord Voldemort's fall.”

Severus scowled and looked at him. “Really? Someone actually said that?”

Dumbledore shrugged, but his eyes were sad. “I'm sorry.”

Severus shook his head in disbelief. Then, rubbing his forehead, he said, “I'll be there in ten minutes.”

Dumbledore left and Severus kept staring at the grounds, the memory of two kids laughing near the lake so strong he could almost hear them.

He went to the party. He toasted, shook hands, smiled, laughed at jokes. Then, when people were no longer paying attention to him, he quietly retreated to his quarters. He put the firewhiskey on the table and stared at it for a long time. Then he got up, threw the bottle on the empty fireplace, and downed two goblets of dreamless sleep.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this was the longest part of "folklore" so far. despite all of the grief in this fic, I really enjoyed writing it and I am relieved to finally publish it. if you liked it, please consider giving kudos and/or a comment telling me what you thought of it. <3


End file.
